He Always Needed Something To Fix
by bittersweetmelody47
Summary: Jack thinks about the people in his life that he cared about the most, and how he let them down. Characters include: Christian, Claire, Sarah, Kate, and Aaron. Spoilers up to S4.


**He Always Needed Something To Fix**

**(Or Five People Jack Shephard Wished He Hadn't Failed)**

-

Their relationship hadn't always been so strained.

Jack has the fleeting memory of laying comfortably on a bed, enveloped in thick blankets, while he read a children's book to him in his low, but clear, rumbling voice. The way he smiled widely at him when he graduated from medical school a year earlier than everyone else, pride shining in his eyes.

But most of all, to this day, there's only one memory that stands out the most, perhaps the one that produced the first rip in the feeble fabric holding their relationship together.

When he thinks hard on it he can almost hear his voice ring through his mind, so loud that it feels as if he's standing right before him in the room, speaking the words aloud.

_'Don't choose, Jack,'_ He had said, peering grimly at him. '_Don't decide. You don't want to be the hero. You don't want to save everyone. Because when you fail… you just don't have what it takes. '_

Afterward Jack had thought he could see a flicker of disappointment in his father's eyes, but he had turned away from him a split second later for him to be sure, walking back toward his chair, reclining back on it with the glass of scotch clutched loosely in his hand.

And that was the end of the conversation.

And he had felt like a failure.

But most of all he had felt this mad desire surge through his veins, the desire to prove him wrong.

To this day, he doesn't even think he ever did.

He hardly ever saw his father completely sober. He would watch his father retire to a chair at night, the alcohol always within reaching distance, and every night he was convinced that, someday, he'd end up drinking himself to death.

And he did. And Jack had to retrieve his body from another country.

When he identified his body in that morgue, recoiled from his father's pale, cold figure as his dreaded fear was confirmed, all he could think about was everything he had ever done to him, the choices he had made against him. And despite his bitterness toward his father, it didn't change the fact that he was dead, with no chance of ever being able to make amends with him.

He had stared, his face screwed up as he tried to hold the grief at bay, the best he could, upon his father's corpse, the seconds stretching out to feel like hours.

"You know what must be done, Jack," His father says, his voice as clear as ever, but much less tired than he's ever heard it.

He looks up blearily from the floor, the half empty whiskey bottle slipping slightly from his hand as he brings it to his mouth again, those familiar blue eyes piercing through him.

_'Look, dad,'_ He thinks humorlessly, his eyes drooping. '_I've become you.'_

"Jack," His father proclaims, more sharply this time. "You have to go back. You have to save them. And her too. Don't you want to save her?"

The mention of her unleashes a kind of anger in him, it overtakes him, fills him completely, and he hoists himself up precariously, the drink forgotten on the floor.

"Go away," He hisses, glaring at his father before swiftly turning his back on him. "You're dead, leave me alone."

His father had never been there for him.

But now he's only a glance away.

-

Sometimes he dreams about her.

He dreams about the day they met among the heap of debris strewn across that beach, how he had come to her aid when she thought she was in early labor.

He had spent months on an island with her, merely regarded her as the friendly, young Australian woman with a baby.

He had no idea.

But how could he have known?

The dreams aren't only comprised of the day they met. Sometimes the dreams are of her staring at him, those blue eyes, so familiar to him throughout his entire life, so sad.

And sometimes the dreams are of her wandering blindly in the jungle on that island, searching desperately for her baby.

That is the worst one, he believes.

Because he is partly responsible; he collaborated in getting Aaron onto that helicopter. He had said he would go back for her.

But he didn't.

However, the relief overwhelms him when he realizes that she never actually appears to him when he's awake, like his father does.

It gives him hope, hope that she's still alive there, and that she didn't die somehow like he had deeply feared.

He imagines finally getting back to that island, to save her and everyone else like he had promised, with the smell of the sea and the light wind from the trees to greet him.

He imagines her emerging out of the jungle, hurrying toward him across the beach, her blonde hair flying.

He imagines her coming to rest in front of him, him handing Aaron back into her waiting, outstretched arms.

He imagines himself saying the words that have been a mantra in his head for so long.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know._

And most of all, he imagines forgiveness shining in her eyes.

-

He once fixed a woman's spine when he believed the damage was irreparable.

Later, she became his wife.

It's been quite an amount of years since, but there are moments where he finds himself thinking back on her without realizing it.

Her name still stings.

He knows she's happy.

And, now, he's comforted that she is.

But she had been his wife, and they had been happy together.

He wonders if she acknowledges that at all, wherever she is.

He wonders if she ever finds herself thinking back on him too.

Throughout his many operations, he had to learn how to accept possible failure.

But marriage was different.

Watching your marriage fail was different.

He had sensed it a little at first.

He had worked too much, came home late too much, and the little time they had alone together he could see how she was slowly drifting away from him.

But he ignored it, put it aside a little too late, and once Gabriela had kissed him and he had given in for those few seconds, he had known that there was a definite problem and it had to be dealt with.

So he had gone home to his wife.

He had confessed what he had done, and embraced her, and had promised that things would get better. That he would make things better.

He had promised that he would work less, that he'd be there for her more.

But that wasn't what she had wanted.

She had told him she'd been having an affair, and the shock washed over him in waves.

'_You will always need something to fix,'_ She had said, while he had gazed at her imploringly, overwhelmingly hurt and betrayed, but silently begging her to stay, to not give up on him, because he really could make things right again.

He could have.

But she left.

She had left him in that all too silent kitchen, left him with something that needed to be fixed, that he knew he could fix, if she let him.

But she wouldn't let him, and all he could think, when he finally surrendered and signed the divorce papers, was that he'd never truly live this down.

And he was right.

Because she had been his wife, and he had loved her, and that makes it hard to forget, even after all these years.

-

The first couple of weeks without her were hard.

He found out, though, as time progressed, that it didn't get any easier.

When he sits alone in the dim light in his apartment as he drowns his sorrows more and more with every sip of alcohol, he reflects on the day they met.

He had escaped from the chaos on the beach, to have his privacy and quiet to collect his thoughts, and just when he was thinking about what he could do with the gash on his back, she had appeared in front of him.

And he had asked her, as a greeting, whether she could help him with it.

He remembers how she had been rubbing her chafed wrists, how she had approached him with apprehension on her face when he called out to her.

Her fingers brushed every so often against his back as she obligingly stitched the cut and he told her the story of how he managed fear, a story he had never told anyone before.

He later learned that she was a fugitive, and the sight of that mug shot as he had held it in his hands, the proof, hit him hard. Because he had never met a person so unlike a fugitive.

But it didn't, as the days passed on that island, weaken their bond at all.

He had never met a woman at all like her, and that was probably why he fell so hard for her.

All the moments they shared on that island passes through his mind like a blur, like a reel of film, some sticking out more than others.

But he remembers them all easily, all down to the tiniest detail.

He doesn't think he could ever forget.

After that trial, when she had asked him to follow her home and he had declined, he only lasted two weeks without giving in.

He just couldn't bring himself to stay away.

When he had told her the truth by that taxi, that he still loved her, he could see it in her eyes that she truly felt the same way.

And later, he knew he'd be a fool to miss the chance when he now knew for sure what she felt for him.

So he had showed up at her front door one evening, knowing he had to face Aaron, and do his best to push aside the guilt all the while, and she had opened the door, a surprised but pleased smile gracing her lips at the sight of him.

Aaron was already asleep and she had brought out wine and before their glasses were even half empty they were in her bedroom, falling back onto the bed as they helped pull off each other's clothes.

He stares at the cell phone in his hand, opening then closing it once more.

He wants to call her and say he's sorry.

He wants to tell her he misses her.

He wants to be happy again.

But all he can see in his head is her tearful face as she held Aaron against her, her sad and hurt green eyes enough to burn through his skin.

He vaguely recalls Sawyer telling him how he had met his father at a bar in Australia, how his father had desperately wanted to pick up a phone and call him, tell him that he was sorry and that he was proud of him. But his father's cowardice had won out in the end, and he never made that call.

Perhaps, he realizes wryly, he's more like his father than he ever thought.

-

When he looked at Aaron, he saw Claire looking back at him.

Because of that, each day spent with him had gotten excruciatingly harder to bear.

He had lived with Kate, helped her take care of Aaron, and together they had formed a perfect lie of a family.

He's not saying he wasn't happy with Kate. He was, very much.

But whatever happiness he felt with Kate, Aaron's presence made it dissolve away.

He does care for Aaron, he does love him, but he's still a living reminder of her.

And she is where the guilt, the pain, stems from.

Aaron, with his bright blonde hair and wide blue eyes… it was all her. The woman that he had lost, that he had failed to save, that he had left on that island.

Aaron simply adored him.

Every night he would eagerly pick out a book for Jack to read him while he curled up under the covers of his bed, and every night Jack would comply with a smile, because he couldn't bring himself to look into that hopeful face and deny the boy anything he wished for.

Aaron usually called him Jack, but there were occasional times where he would call out for him but 'Daddy' would slip out instead, and he remembers how Kate would always look over in his direction briefly, almost cautiously, to see how he would react.

He never corrected Aaron when he did this.

And he and Kate never discussed it, deciding, he supposes, each on their own, to pretend that it never happened.

There were times when he would look over at Aaron playing with toys in the living room, and he'd have this unbelievably strong urge to just tell him, _I'm not your daddy, I'm your uncle, your real mother was my sister and you're my nephew and I took you away from her and left her on an island and I don't even know if she's alive and you look just like her so much like her I can't stand it and we're living a lie yet you have no idea and you should hate me so why don't you hate me?_ But he knew there was no way he could say it, so he'd just look away or walk out of the room and try so hard to push the thoughts out of his mind.

But he still shouted part of the truth out at Kate and when Aaron appeared in the room, no doubt having been startled awake by the noise, all he could hope was that Aaron didn't hear him, and the shame he felt was so deep.

And he turned away, made his way out of the room, and knew the minute he walked out the front door that he wasn't coming back because he just couldn't bring himself to.

But even when he wasn't around them, they weren't far from him, because they always dwelled at the front of his mind.

And when Kate yelled at him at that airport parking lot, her face so anguished and he saw completely how much pain he had put her through, how Aaron still asked about him and why he wasn't around anymore, the pain he felt stung a hundred more times than her hand across his face.

And, if possible, he hated himself even more.

Now, he stands alongside Ben as Sayid and Hurley and Sun with her daughter Ji Yeon wait by him, and he stares upon Kate as she moves toward them, her face slightly hardened, which he knows well enough is just her way of concealing apprehension, Aaron's hand enclosed with hers.

Aaron looks around shyly at everyone, moving closer to Kate, until his eyes fall upon Jack and Aaron's face dispels its timidity and splits into a wide grin.

Aaron lets go of Kate's hand and rushes toward him, and as Aaron opens his mouth to call out to him Jack takes a sharp intake of breath, bracing himself for the name, the way he'll be referred to.

"Jack!"

He lets out the breath he had been holding in slowly as Aaron wraps his arms tightly around his leg, looking up at him with utter glee shining on his face.

Jack looks at Kate and he can see she's attempting to suppress a smile and as Aaron pulls away reluctantly he drops down to his knees and pulls Aaron to him, holding him warmly against him, and he gets the sudden rush of hope that he can make things right this time.

---

.end


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